Lavendar's Blue
by thermopylae
Summary: A collection of oneshots set to Mother Goose nursery rhymes. Chapter 5 up: Even a man mostly at peace still has questions.
1. Chapter 1

**notes:** Short-ish introspective-ish pieces set to Mother Goose nursery rhymes. Times and settings jump around. These can be read as companion pieces to "It's All Fun and Games" and "Snow Queen," as I'll use tidbits from those fics in here, and vice versa. But a knowledge of those fics are not necessary to understand these. And vice versa.

"High-five"

_Lavender's blue,  
Rosemary's green.  
When I am King,  
You will be Queen._

_Who told you so?  
Who told you so?  
'Twas my own heart  
That told me so._

Nami stretched out her legs as much as the cramped crow's nest would allow. Third watch, she decided, had to be the worst. It always came after she'd slipped into real sleep, so that she felt groggy and cranky when forced into the night air. So she would have to get a cup of coffee - that Sanji always, always thoughtfully left warm on these nights - and some bread to keep her awake. But then the caffiene and the brief stint at alertness would disorient her when the shift ended, so that she could never go properly back to sleep. And if Sanji happened to have the fourth watch after her, she was always too cross to thank him for the coffee, even though she knew she should. That he never asked for her thanks only made her crosser. It is the way of people who are hard on themselves. They only really respect those who are hard on them as well.

Yes, third watch was the one Nami hated most. But at least now, with seven crew members, no one was forced to take watch duty every night, and Nami could look forward to a couple of nights of easy sleep. And Sanji had dawn watch this time. Zoro had the fourth watch after her. Nami knew he relished their brief crossing of paths along the mast as much as she did. He matched her worn-down crankiness with fresh roused-from-sleep bad temper of his own, _and_ threw in some creative swearwords for good measure. It was so nice, Nami mused, to have someone who really understood what it was like to have a vicious temper.

But she wouldn't get to relieve her feelings for some hours yet. Her turn at watch was just beginning, her mug still full of coffee. At least it wasn't cold out, Nami consoled herself. The ship was still on the perimeters of a summer island's weather zone, and the clear-skied night was really quite warm. Nami knew it would change. The wind teasing her hair was cool. Right now it was nice, but the clouds were going to rush in during Zoro's watch, and by morning everything would be damp and clammy and they would all be grumpy. Nami tried to tell herself that really, it was a good thing she had third watch tonight. She was the last person who would get to enjoy nice weather for a while.

Nami was not even halfway convinced by her own reasoning. Not too surprising. Luffy was the one to find silver linings, not she.

As if the half-exasperated, half-fond thought had conjured him up, Nami could see the deck hatch lift open and the familiar straw hat poke its way out from the heat and rank of the men's dorms to the cooler, starry air above. This was unusual. Luffy loved his sleep almost as much as Zoro did, protected his right to it even more than Nami did when she managed to get some. He never got himself up once his head hit the pillow. Nami shifted into a kneeling position and propped her elbows along the side of the crow's nest.

"Luffy," she called down softly. It was jarring to hear her own voice in the night. "Hey, what are you doing up?"

Luffy turned and, pushing that shock of inky hair out of his eyes, gave her a small wave. He lowered the hatch door again with his toes. "It's too hot to sleep," he called back, and made a small face. Luffy's voice was nothing near as quiet as Nami's. It was impossible for him to be quiet, Nami thought with an inward smile. Even when he whispered, Luffy's voice had a piercing quality that Nami had grown to welcome. It meant something of him was always sure to reach her.

"It's nicer up here, though," Luffy was saying. "The wind's nice and cool." He padded over to the starboard rail and hung his head over the side. The robe Vivi had given him in Alubarna, that he'd taken to wearing as an oversized nightgown, was showing new holes and tears. Nami knew it meant tomorrow was Mending Day for her. Luffy was going to bring the robe to her just when she was at her busiest, and insist that she mend it _right now_, and he was going to hover over her with childlike anxiety until she finished patching up every single hole. Nami watched him, smiling openly now that he wasn't looking to see her doing it. She knew just the look he was wearing on his face: wide-eyed and delighted with the black nighttime waves. It seemed a pity to spoil his enjoyment, but Nami would never had it said that she didn't warn anybody.

"It'll turn to rain by morning," she informed his back. "You'll want to find your raincoat again."

"I don't care," Luffy said absently. "I dry off quick."

"I suppose." Nami watched Luffy, her smile fading as she realized something was wrong. He should have been shouting, or pointing, or at least falling overboard in excitement. He shouldn't be just...hanging there. "Luffy?" she called again. "What's up?"

He didn't turn around. "Nami," he said slowly, "I'm gonna be the Pirate King, you know."

"Yeah, I know." And now, she no longer doubted it.

"And when I'm the Pirate King, we're..." Luffy paused. Nami thought she was beginning to understand. He was talking with the hesitation of a child trying to explain the terror of his first nightmare, slow and searching. "We're still gonna be friends, right?" he said finally.

_So he has thought about it_, Nami thought. Going around saying it so casually: "I'm the guy who's going to be the Pirate King!" The stupid boy never seemed to consider what it really meant to be a king of, well, pirates.

"Sure we'll be friends," she said aloud. "That's not something you have to ask, Luffy."

He didn't seem to hear her. "And when I'm King," he said urgently, "you'll still be my navigator, right? And you'll let me see your map of the world?"

A pang went through Nami's heart as she realized this was what was really bothering Luffy. He'd come up to talk to her, just her. In a way, that was nice, to know that she was needed. Oh, Nami knew she was _needed_. The crew would be lost without her nagivation skills. But it was easy to forget, what with Luffy's antics and her scolding and the general bickering, that they actually understood each other very well. The only other person who could say that was Zoro. Luffy loved the others and would give anything of himself for them in a heartbeat. But he never looked at them with the steady gaze he gave Nami and Zoro sometimes, the one that said _It's all right, whatever happens, because we know each other's hearts._

Then again, Luffy knew Zoro in a different way that he knew Nami. Whatever understanding the swordsman and the rubber man shared was wordless and did not need to be spoken. Nami never tried to touch that. She hadn't been there when Zoro decided to give his immediate life to the boy with the straw hat. But Zoro hadn't been there either, when Luffy was in that room at Arlong Park and had glimpsed the deepest part of Nami's heart. Only Nami knew what Luffy must have picked up from the floor or that awful desk, and why he had destroyed all the maps. And when he'd emerged from the rubble, he'd had to say it out loud: "You're _my_ companion!"

Because that's what Nami did. Some things still needed to be said, and Nami was the person who got Luffy to say them. Nami liked being the one Luffy talked to when he needed to put his fantastical fool's dream into words. Usually it was her prodding him to give some explanation or assurance. But tonight, he was asking her to put verbally what he could not believe otherwise. He was asking _her_ to say it.

"Listen, Luffy," she said. Nami thought she understood now how Luffy felt when she pushed him. The feeling that whatever she said, it would be the right thing. "Maybe we won't be together always. But even if we're not, even if you have to get a new nagivator, you'll always use _my_ maps. And then it'll feel like being with me, because _I_ drew those lines and marked those islands, and I did it while I was with you. Everything I've been putting down, I've been able to do it 'cause we're together right now. As long you use my maps, you'll never, ever get lost."

Luffy didn't speak for a long time. Nami wondered wryly if he'd fallen asleep. Typical!

But when he did turn around again, he was grinning, his mouth a perfect copy of that crescent scar. "When I'm the Pirate King, Nami..."

"Yeah?"

His grin grew, if possible, even wider. "You're gonna be the Queen!"

Nami couldn't help but laugh. "Queen, Luffy? But I don't want to be the Pirate Queen."

"No!" Luffy shook his head. "Of the world, Nami. 'Cause of your map. You'll be the only person who's drawn a map of the whole world. You'll be the only one who's copied it all down. That makes you Queen!"

One of Luffy's arms stretched and snaked up towards the Crow's Nest. The hand stopped in front of Nami, fingers spread. Luffy was looking up at her now, still smiling that mad grin, and the steady gaze was in his eyes. Nami grinned back and slapped Luffy's hand firmly with her own.

High-five.

This was theirs too, this little exchange of skin. Whether his hand reached for hers or hers for his, for big or little reasons, it was an affirmation of them. _You're special to me, and I'm special to you_, it meant. An affirmation and a promise.

Nami watched as the hand snapped back to its owner's side. She waved as Luffy called "Bye!" and clattered back down the hatch. After he'd gone, she took a sip of her fast-cooling coffee.

He was going to be King and she was going to be Queen.

Nami couldn't wait.

_I love to dance; I love to sing;  
When I am queen, you'll be my king.  
Who told me so? Who told me so?  
I told myself. I told me so._

------  
**notes:** I don't favor Luffy and Nami as a romantic couple (because I don't see Luffy romantically with _anyone_) but I love the two of them together. The high-five they do gets me every time.


	2. a sleepy little village

"A Sleepy Little Village on the Edge of East Blue"

_Little Tommy Tucker  
Sings for his supper.  
What shall we give him?  
White bread and butter.  
How shall he cut it  
Without a knife?  
How shall he be married  
Without a wife?_

He always started from the cliff. Naturally. It had the best view of the sea horizon. Also, he liked the solitary walk in the mornings from his house to the edge of the forest. Also, it was convenient. He could begin there, cut through the woods, run up the village's largest and almost only street, and head in a straight line to his own house up on the hill. Then it was just a hopskip to his schoolbag hanging over the back of the chair, a stretch of his arm for the slingshot on the table, and then a mad dash back down the hill to school. Sure, he was usually the last one in his seat, but he got there before the bell finished ringing, and that was what counted, right?

At school, as the teacher wrote the day's schedule on the blackboard, his neighbors always took the opportunity to harrass him. "Hey, Pinocchio," one would start, "why don't you knock it off with that pirate stuff? My dad says you put him off his breakfast."

"Yeah, and my dad calls you a damn nuisance."

"And _my_ dad says if he has to listen to that pirate crap one more time, he will seriously beat your ass black and blue. Remember, he's the blacksmith, so he knows all about beating, if you catch me."

He would give them all a wink. "Tell your folks they shouldn't feel bad. It's no great shame to fall for one of Captain Usopp's tall tales!"

Then they would all chorus, "They didn't fall for it!" and cuff him about the head before turning their attentions, grumbling, to the teacher.

But he would just laugh and start doodling in the margins of his book.

Every day. The same ritual in this little backwater town where nothing ever changed. The villagers threatened and complained, but he knew they counted on his presence in the mornings. The daily disruptions had become part of village life, the part that never changed. Stopping his runs through town - now that would be the really shocking thing. Their threats and blusters, like his classmates' taunting, were all part of the ritual.

Today he was annoyed to find the routine broken. Mrs. Wimple was already in the house when he burst through the front door. He'd forgotten she still came around sometimes. Mostly he liked Mrs. Wimple. She'd been coming to the house for years, ever since his mother became too sick to keep the house running. Mrs. Wimple had done everything during those awful, bewildering first months after his mother died. She had kept him in the house and out of an orphanage. She had taught him how to wash laundry and make a basic meal for himself. Now that he was fourteen and almost grown, he could manage fairly well alone. But sometimes she still came stumping up the hill with a change of bed linens to replace frayed ones, or a bit of meat pie and the recipe. So mostly he liked her and was grateful to her. But she did make him terribly late for school.

"Really, Usopp," she said the minute he entered the room. "I don't know what you do to this house when I'm not here. Just look at this!" Mrs. Wimple held up a very gray, very dusty sock. "I found it behind the stove, of all places."

He smacked his forehead. "So that's where it went!" he exclaimed. "I must have dropped it when the Ash Rats crawled down from the chimney. They're horrible creatures, you know. They track ash and dirt all over the house. The only thing that stops them is the stench of an old smelly sock -"

Mrs. Wimple wagged a finger in his face, stopping him. "None of your stories, now," she warned him. "Sit down and eat your breakfast before it gets cold."

"But -"

"But nothing. You are far too skinny for a boy your age. I always said to your poor mother, 'If you don't want that boy to be a beanpole, you had better feed him right,' but look at you! You look like you've never seen a plate of bacon and eggs before." Her eyes followed him severely as he took a place meekly at the table.

"I have school," he explained weakly, even as he picked up the fork.

Mrs. Wimple, satisfied that he was eating, immediately started bustling around the small house like a very clean, talkative cyclone. "You'd be able to fit in breakfast _and_ the school bell if you didn't do that fool shouting about pirates every morning," she snapped. "I am not blaming you, Usopp, you know I do not blame you for a minute. I have never regretted sorting you out and your poor mother before you, even though you are likely to send me to an early grave. And others may talk, but I do not hold you the least bit responsible for that pirate father of yours. Though what kind of father leaves his wife and child all alone in a place like this, I'm sure I don't know. But there it is. He's gone, and it's not your fault you're his son, poor lamb. But your stories!" She threw up her hands, inadvertantly dropping a pile of sheets as she did so. "Usopp, you are old enough to know, the villagers have been talking."

"I already know," he said through a mouthful of bacon. "They've been talking for years."

She ignored him and swept on. "They have been telling me," she continued grimly, "that you are a disruptive liar who ruins the peace of this village, and they want me to do something about it. Me!" She threw up her hands again. "As if I ever could control you. As if I were anything more than the person who does dusts your tabletop and finds your dirty socks behind the stove!"

"You've been very kind to me, Mrs. Wimple," he said. This was another kind of ritual. She made this speech, with variations on what she found where, every time she visited.

Mrs. Wimple dumped the sheets into a basket and sniffed, mollified. "Usopp," she began, then hesitated. He half turned around. Mrs. Wimple _never_ hesitated. "I just want you to be happy," Mrs. Wimple said finally. "Your mother was one of the grandest women there was, and you are lucky to have had her, even if she was taken too soon. Your father, scoundrel though he may be, was not all bad."

"I _know_ that."

"I'm not finished," said Mrs. Wimple sharply. She thumped the laundry basket down on the bed. "This is a small village, Usopp, and I don't mind saying that you may be too bright to live happily here for the rest of your life. But you can't leave right now, do you see? You have to live with us folks who like our peace and sense of safety. Someday you might leave us for one of those big cities. But until that day comes, try to live quietly. Try-" she cast around for the words, "try to be a good boy."

He scraped back his chair and got up. Walking to the sink to put the dishes in, he said lightly, "Yeah, sure I'll try to be good." He turned around with a cheerful smile. "That's the bell, Mrs. Wimple. Gotta run." He grabbed his schoolbag from the back of the chair and the slingshot from the table and dashed down the hill to school.

_Sorry, Mrs. Wimple,_ he thought. _But it's no great shame falling for one of Captain Usopp's lies._

Yes, he was a liar, and a troublemaker, and a son of a pirate, but there were some things he knew were true:

He had loved his mother.

Only the villagers never understood how much. Every morning, as he shouted "Pirates are coming!" through the town, they shook their heads and thought him crazy.

He was a brave warrior of the sea.

Only he didn't have a ship, or a real crew, or any idea where to go, or anyone who might tell him. All he had were a clever mind, a clever tongue, two clever hands, and a slingshot.

He was his father's son.

Only he didn't have a father.

------

**notes:** The Tommy Tucker nursery rhyme really is about orphans, which made it an obvious choice for Usopp. He's such a poignant character, the way he is left on the outside of everything - his parentage, lack of parents, physical appearance, ambitions, persona. All of the Straw Hats joined Luffy partly as a way to "find themselves," but Usopp is almost the only Straw Hat still trying to figure out who he is and where he fits in the world. Anyway, it's really wonderful to see Usopp's and Luffy's coming-of-age stories unfold. Oda does such a great job of playing the two off each other - they're both boyish and going after essentially the same dream. But Luffy has complete confidence and faith, while Usopp...doesn't. And I think that makes his the more heroic journey, since he has to struggle both physically and emotionally. I will not lie. I cried for Usopp during the Water Seven arc. I love this kid.


	3. wednesday's child

**Disclaimer:** I totally forgot to do this in the first chapter. I do not own "One Piece"! It is not mine!

"Wednesday's Child"

_Monday's child is fair of face  
Tuesday's child is full of grace  
Wednesday's child is full of woe  
Thursday's child has far to go  
Friday's child is loving and giving  
Saturday's child works hard for a living  
But the child born on the Sabbath day  
Is fair and wise and good and gay._

Nefeltari Vivi, now Miss Wednesday, stood in front of Miss AllSunday's desk, hands clasped behind her in what she hoped was a nonchalant manner. She was here for her job briefing, the last step before becoming a full Baroque Works agent. Though this meeting was a mere formality, Miss Wednesday couldn't stop her stomach from twisting into a hundred little knots as she stood under the scrutiny of Mr. O's cool-eyed partner.

"Miss Wednesday." Miss AllSunday cocked her head to one side and smiled at her from under the brim of a galleon hat. "The name suits you, at least."

Miss Wednesday blinked nervously. She had expected a speech, not a conversation. "I don't understand what you mean," she replied cautiously.

Miss AllSunday's smile widened. "'Full of woe,'" she explained, quoting the nursery rhyme.

"I - I'll try to be more cheerful," Miss Wednesday stammered lamely. A raised eyebrow was added to Miss AllSunday's secretive smile. Miss Wednesday clenched her hands tighter.

Thankfully, Miss AllSunday's eyes dropped just then, going to the file spread open on the desk in front of her. "There are no assignments for you at the present moment," she said in a more brisk sort of tone, and Miss Wednesday relaxed. "Since Mr. 9 has requested a personal holiday. So for now you will accompany Mr. 8 and Miss Monday until Mr. 9's return. Miss Monday will be your mentor and will fully instruct you on the duties of a Baroque Works agent. Any questions?"

"N-no." Miss Wednesday shook her head vigorously. When Miss AllSunday made no move to either reprimand or dismiss her, Miss Wednesday rushed in to fill the silence. "So I'll be following Miss Monday?"

"That is correct."

"'Fair of face,'" Miss Wednesday couldn't help saying out loud. A memory of Miss Monday, huge and hulking and mannish, flashed through her mind. She flushed. "That's a cruel sort of joke."

Up went Miss AllSunday's eyebrow again. "She was given the title for her ability, not her appearance," the vice-president said sharply. "And may I remind you, Miss Wednesday, that she is your superior. I assure you there is no need for patronization." She waved a hand, seemingly unaware of Miss Wednesday's blush. "If you have no questions, then you are dismissed."

Miss Wednesday turned to go. As she placed a hand on the doorknob, Miss AllSunday's voice stopped her.

"By the way," the other woman said casually. "I suggest you tread carefully from now on, Princess. Some members of Baroque Works would be extremely excited to know there was royalty in their midst. Who knows what they might do."

Miss Wednesday closed her eyes. She didn't ask how Miss AllSunday knew; what was the point? Miss AllSunday knew, and she almost certainly knew about Igaram as well, and that was that. "Is that a threat?" Miss Wednesday finally asked without turning around.

"No." Miss AllSunday's voice sounded amused. "Merely a friendly warning, which will not be given again. Mr. O is is vain, Princess, and he is power-hungry. Possibly he is even mad. But he is not a fool. He will not fail to notice that the princess of Arabasta and the Captain of the Guard are among his titled agents. But who knows? I might convince him not to kill you."

Miss Wednesday could hear her stretching and putting her feet on the desk. Still she didn't turn. "What's stopping you?" she said quietly. "Why don't you just go and have him kill us now?"

"I can't be bothered." There was a rustle and a pause. "Forgive the comparison, Princess, but I invite you to think of flies. There are some people for whom violence itself is the crime, and who would no more kill a fly than a man. That's you. There are others who live to kill, and will destroy even insignificant flies for the sheer fact that they are alive. That's Mr. O. But most people don't care about flies one way or the other. Whether a fly lives or dies is of no importance to them. Some people like that kill flies thoughtlessly anyway. Perhaps, as long as you do your buzzing far away, I am letting you live thoughtlessly. But if you get too close, I might have to swat you after all."

Miss Wednesday opened the door. "Thank you for the warning," she said quietly. "But I think you'll find that I'm not so easy to swat." She stepped out into the corridor and closed the door behind her. Then she made her way out of Rain Dinners, down the streets of Rainbase and to her hotel room to begin packing her belongings for the assignment with Mr. 8 and Miss Monday.

It was a long time before her hands stopped shaking.

--------  
Feedback and critique would be more than welcome! hint, hint... 


	4. the ocean stretches on endlessly

**"the ocean stretches on endlessly"**

_One, two, three, four, five  
Once I caught a fish alive._

Zoro was just aware, with his last scrap of consciousness, of Luffy settling down for an afternoon of fishing. Vaguely hoping his new traveling companion would catch something, Zoro sank down into sleep and began to dream.

The dream was pleasant, as his dreams tended to be. He was back at the dojo, and Kuina was promising him that one of them would someday become the best swordsman in the world. It was daytime. Kuina was smiling, her face tired but glowing from a good round of practice. Zoro had just figured out how to balance a sword in his teeth. Now Kuina was laughing and saying she could still beat him, even if he did have three swords. Zoro was grabbing a third sword from the weapons rack - he never could resist a challenge - when Kuina kicked the side of the boat with her foot and said something about fish.

Zoro started awake and looked across the boat. Luffy, his new "Captain," was sitting along the side of the boat, beating an irregular rhythm against the planks with his foot and singing a silly little song to himself, his voice happy and slightly off-key. Zoro grunted and slipped back into his dream.

_Six, seven, eight, nine, ten  
Then I let it go again._

He was in a boat, all alone somewhere in East Blue. He hadn't been back to his village for many months. Kuina was dead and buried in the corner of the garden that got the best afternoon sun. Sensei had planted an apple tree over the grave, but Zoro had left while it still little more than a sapling. He hadn't been back to the village for many months. It was all right, though. If Zoro took his eyes off the distant figure of Mihawk, and turned his head, he could see the shores of his island, waiting for him. No matter which way he turned his head, there was the island. At first Zoro looked over at the island a lot, but gradually he turned his head less and less and concentrated instead on the silouhetted man on the horizon. It was all right. If he _did_ turn his head, the island _would_ be there, and he'd never have to worry about finding his way back.

Suddenly, Mihawk said, "Ouch!" which caused Zoro to jump a little.

Zoro came awake for the second time and looked around in some confusion. The sky was a deep summer blue, with gorgeous huge piles of white clouds floating along in it. A couple of seagulls flew past, cawing as they went. The ocean stretched out all around them. There was no island in sight.

Sitting up, Zoro reminded himself that it'd been Luffy, not Mihawk, who'd said "Ouch." He squinted at the other boy and asked awkwardly, "What happened?"

Luffy turned around, his usually sunny face rueful. He was sucking on one hand. "Had to let the fish go," he said with a quick, apologetic smile, and swung his feet across the side so that he was all the way back in the boat again.

Zoro could feel his brows knitting together. "Why did you let it go?" he asked, more gruffly than he intended. "We could have used the food."

"Because it bit my finger, so..." Luffy shrugged.

Don't tell me, Zoro thought. The guy who can take on a Marine regiment without a scratch can't catch one lousy fish. And he wants to be the Pirate King? Zoro sighed. "Which finger did it bite?" he asked. Why did he get the growing feeling that he'd signed on for a babysitting job instead of the piratical career advertised?

"This little finger, on the right." Luffy held out a slightly damp hand for inspection. Zoro passed a cursory eye over it. There were puncture marks, he had to admit, two neat rows of sharp-looking bites. "Looks like it was a pretty big one," he said grudgingly.

"Yeah," Luffy said, and laughed. "Guess we both wanted to catch something for dinner!" He threw back his head and carried on laughing in the odd, hiccupping way that shook his whole body, as if he wanted to enjoy the joke as fully as possible. It didn't seem to matter that they had no food, no water, and no idea of where to go. And it certainly did not seem to be a problem that Luffy was, for all intents and purposes, attempting to enter the Grand Line in a sailboat. With one crew member. After letting a fish go because it'd bit his finger.

Was this guy for real? Zoro stared at the hatted boy in disbelief. He really planned on being the Pirate King? Oh, he was serious about _wanting_ to, anyone could see that, but... Zoro shook his head. He'd known men who'd have made good Pirate Kings. He'd hunted some of them, been offered employment by others. They'd all of them worked and thieved and killed their way to the top. That's what being the king meant, right? It was work, not some little-kid game you played after school. Being the Pirate King meant being the toughest, the craftiest, the most ruthless, the best. Zoro knew all about being the best, and Monkey D. Luffy, well, he simply did not fit the job descrption.

Just as Zoro was opening his mouth to voice his doubts on this whole venture, the waters underneath them heaved and sent the boat jerking violently sideways. Zoro swore, grabbed the side of the boat with one hand, and an instant after grabbed at Luffy's shirt with the other. The kid couldn't swim, something like that?

"What the hell is that?" he yelled over the sudden churning of the seawater.

Luffy, being jerked along with the boat and Zoro's unsteady hand, sat down with a bump. "Dunno," he said, blinking. "Maybe the fish went to get its mother or something."

"Don't be stupid," Zoro argued, even as he let go of the boat to fumble around for the oars. "Fish don't have mo - what the hell is _that_!"

Two figures broke the surface of the ocean, spraying water and foam everywhere. The smaller one was only the length of Zoro himself. The larger one was - well, much, much larger. And it did not look happy.

"Definitely the mother," Luffy said, nodding decisively even as he scuttled back towards the rear of the boat, away from the sea monsters. "That's just how Herbert's mom used to look when I hung him upside down from the roof."

"Forget Herbert's mom!" Zoro gave a powerful push on the oars and shot the boat just barely out of reach as the mother sea monster whipped her head down in a vicious, full-toothed stab. "What're we gonna do? I'll try to steer us clear while you find a good angle to punch -"

"Run away!"

"What?" Zoro did not stop rowing, but he twisted his head around to gape.

Luffy was laughing again, clearly enjoying himself. "Run away!" he gasped in between laughs. "We just gotta get out of their territory...sea monsters never chase you past their territory..." He collapsed back onto the bottom of the boat again in a fit of giggles.

"Fine," Zoro said, thoroughly exasperated. "But why am _I_ doing all the work?"

There was no reply, and Zoro did not really expect one. He just concentrated on bumping the boat along one jawlength ahead of the vengeful oceanic matron. The thing was, something about Luffy's stupid laugh was infectious. Before long, Zoro found himself thinking it _was_ kind of fun, playing Tag with a sea monster. And the cold saltwater splashing on his face cooled the strain of hard rowing. And the sheer speed - well, it made the ocean a little bluer, and the clouds float by a little faster, and the look on the sea monsters' faces when they got clear was absolutely priceless. Zoro wondered if Herbert's mother had ever looked like that too.

When the sea monsters had slunk sullenly back into the depths and the ocean surface was calm once more, Zoro heaved a sigh and looked over at Luffy.

The boy had stopped laughing, but a grin still hung on his face like a crescent moon, and he was singing that song again. Almost getting gulped by a fish could have been just a part of the day's routine, for all he cared.

_He's going to get himself killed,_ Zoro thought. _He wants to be the Pirate King, but pirates don't let people like him live. He can't possibly get to the top just on stubborness and a laugh. He'll have to learn to stop laughing, or he's gonna get killed..._

But that laugh. Something about that laugh, and Luffy's strange, unblinkingly intense manner.

Zoro remembered the first time he said he wanted to be the best swordsman in the world. He'd been a child, hotheaded and angry at always losing to a girl. Big words from a small boy. He remembered the way Kuina had said the same thing, and how he'd hated the ache in her voice, the longing for something unattainable. He'd wanted her to say it in a different way, like it was possible, like she _was_ going to do it. The way she said it in his dreams. The way Luffy said it. "I've already decided to make you my mate!"

Already decided. Just like he'd already decided to be the Pirate King. And Zoro had come along, hadn't he? Maybe because Luffy had already decided. Maybe because his laugh was like a wild welling up of something in the chest, and made Zoro feel like anything he wanted was bound to happen, just because he wished it.

He looked up as that very laugh erupted from the end of the boat. Luffy had picked the fishing pole up again and was swinging his legs back over the side. "Guess I'll try again," he said cheerfully.

That was when Zoro knew. He wanted to see that laugh through, all the way to the top. He was _going_ to see that laugh through. If pirates were going to have a king, then Zoro wanted him to be Luffy, who didn't take no for an answer and who'd rather run away than punch out a mother in front of her kid. Zoro didn't want that laugh to ever die.

So he said, tucking his hands behind his head, "Better luck this time, Captain," and leaned against the side of the boat to watch Luffy fish. The sky was a deep summer blue, with gorgeous huge piles of clouds floating along it it. The ocean stretched endlessly out around them. Roronoa Zoro, First Mate of the Straw Hat Pirates, settled down to enjoy the moment.

- - - - -  
**notes:** Kind of fluffy - for me, anyway. I wanted to write something about doubting Luffy. Though Zoro's loyalty to Luffy _becomes_ unconditional fairly early on, he has his reservations in that first bit between the Morgan encounter and meeting Buggy, when he and Luffy are still sounding each other out. How does he go from joining for his own reasons (like everyone that follows does) to being unquestioningly and unconditionally Luffy's man? This probably isn't the most coherent interpretation, but... I guess I just really love Luffy's laugh.

Points if you can spot the rest of the nursery rhyme in the dialogue.


	5. if you have no daughters

**If You Have No Daughters**

_Hot cross buns!  
Hot cross buns!  
If you have no daughters,  
Give them to your sons.  
One a penny,  
Two a penny,  
hot cross buns!_

Imagine that you are the father of an exceptional child. The child is dead. She fell down the stairs some years ago. The night before her death, you told her something awful: you told her that girls could not be as strong as boys. The next day she slipped on the cellar steps and broke her neck.

Suppose that you are not a superstitious man. But there are questions you would ask yourself, correct? Isn't that normal? To wonder if your words triggered the event? To believe, in the small fearful corners of your heart, that you killed her, the vibrations in your larynx twisting like snakes into something evil and strangling, lying in wait for her on those stairs. Isn't it only right to hope that, in her last moments, she thought of him and not of you?

Isn't it better, in this case, to transfer your love - the bottomless love of a father for his little girl - to him? Isn't it better to use that love, keep it fresh with constant stirring, than to let it stagnate and rot? He who bears your daughter's sword, he who wailed her loss to the heavens and sees her ghost everywhere: isn't it normal to love him? Not as the son you never had but for the daughter you lost.

That's what you tell yourself. You are so proud of him - so proud. He has exceeded every expectation. The promise budding in your little daughter has blossomed in him. Your snake words were wrong - you see that now, don't you? He is what she would have become. Sometimes, in the roll of his shoulders and the graveness of his eyes, you can just make out the slender outline of your girl. That's what you imagine when the weather is sweet and the cicadas creak so peacefully.

But you can't know for certain, can you? You do not know that, had she lived, you would have caught the snake and killed it instead. You do not know for certain that repentance is possible without sacrifice. Would you have felt affection for him only as your daughter's shadow? Or would you have invested all your hope in him as the son you never had, muddying the well of fatherlove? You cannot know. The answers belong to some other, happier world, one in which your daughter is not dead. It's what you tell yourself. But you cannot know.

Is it right to encourage him? Is it strange to believe that his dream has magical properties, like fairytale wishes? Could you see yourself hoping that in the moment of fulfillment, as he stands there in grim triumph, she will burst back into being, formed from air and water and earth and the love your poured into her through him - still young, still long-limbed, her child's body perfumed with sweat and grass? Is it strange to think you will see her again, your little bird whose wings you clipped, whose neck you wrung?

Tell me what you would do, my dear, if you were me. Tell me as I stand by your grave, watching the muscles roll like hills across his broad back as he walks away. It feels like he is taking you with him. Tell me before he disappears down the hill and out to sea and I can no longer be comforted by your presence in him. Tell me. Are these the wonderings of a lonely father, or merely of the guilty?

Oh Kuina, Kuina: you would have been nineteen.

- - - - -  
**notes:** Kind of short. I feel like it borders on exposition at times, but I tried to play around with the 2nd person voice to avoid that. As always, any feedback is appreciated!


End file.
